


Tomorrow, We Will Shine

by JulietsEmoPhase



Series: Falling [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Body Image, Boys In Love, Boys Kissing, Chubby Draco Malfoy, Dom/sub Undertones, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Happy Ending, Light Angst, M/M, Post Hogwarts AU, Post-Hogwarts, Post-War, Praise Kink, Smut, lucius malfoy hate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-25
Updated: 2016-07-25
Packaged: 2018-07-26 16:27:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7581502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JulietsEmoPhase/pseuds/JulietsEmoPhase
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After coming out to the world, Harry and Draco are trying to build their future together, but certain people seem hell bent on tearing them apart. </p><p>"Falling" Part 3/3. Post-Hogwarts, non-epilogue compliant, super fluffy smut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tomorrow, We Will Shine

**Author's Note:**

> This is the final part in the ‘Falling Trilogy’. The first two parts are ‘Fall, and I Will Catch You’ and ‘Together, We Can Soar’. You will need to have read those fics first before you read this one. 
> 
> I have written this as a birthday present for my lovely friend Yaz (@justanotherdrarryblog) who was one of the most supportive cheerleaders of the first two parts, and actually came up with the main plot for part two. I figured she would like the last installment to be written for her! 
> 
> Warning: This fic is diabolically schmoopy. It is a giant ball of fluffy feels as two gorgeous boys overcome all odds because they are so bloody in love. There is also a serious warning for body image issues and some unkind words said towards our darling Chubby!Draco, but never fear, Harry is right beside him to shut those haters right up! ;) There is also smut – quite a lot of it, and this contains a lot of praise kink as well as some sub/Dom undertones. If you read book two, you’ll already know what I mean.
> 
> Okay, that’s quite enough from me! I hope you enjoy!

Tomorrow, We Will Shine

  

   Of all the things Harry had lacked during his childhood, books, funnily enough, had not been one of them.  Anyone clueless enough to buy Dudley Dursley anything to read were probably unaware that such a gift would be treated with the uttermost contempt and derision, before being unceremoniously thrown into the second bedroom with all the other discarded and broken possessions to be forgotten. 

   To Harry, this abandoned library was one of his only joys in the sparse moments he was allowed to indulge in any time alone to himself.  When not being bullied into cleaning the toilets by his aunt, or chased around alleyways by Dudley and his gang, there were sometimes a precious hour or two where he could lose himself in a faraway land, leaving all his troubles behind, for just a while, 

   Now though, as he stared over the lush green vista of ‘deepest, darkest Peru’, he found he didn’t need any help leaving his troubles behind.  Because just then, it seemed like all his troubles had melted far away all by themselves.

   “What are you doing?” Draco asked fondly, coming up behind him and snaking his arms around his waist.

   “Looking for a talking teddy bear in a rain mac,” Harry replied glibly, then turned to kiss his boyfriend’s confused face.

   “I think you’ve lost the plot,” Draco said, but he grinned and allowed himself to be kissed properly nonetheless. 

   Harry pulled away after a time and brushed Draco’s damp blond hair back.  “How’s the collection going?” he asked, indicating the staked pyramid of jars on the forest floor, all filled with different kinds of samples.

   Draco nodded.  “Excellent, I think I’m finally done.”

   Harry though wasn’t convinced.  “This is our last day,” he said, indicating the jungle that currently enveloped them.  “Are you sure you don’t want to try one more site?”

   “What I want,” Draco growled, hugging him close and kissing his neck so Harry shivered.  “Is to take you back to the lodge and enjoy our final night on holiday.  You’ve put up with me rummaging around for fungus and bark for a week now, I think you deserve a reward.”

   Harry’s skin, already flush and sweaty from the humidity and blazing sunshine, lit up with a whole different kind of warmth.  “It’s important,” he managed to mumble through his grin.  “You need supplies for your research, I haven’t minded tagging along – I mean, look at this place, it’s incredible.”

   Unlike Draco, Harry had never set foot outside the UK until last week.  So when Draco had eventually plucked up the courage to invite Harry along on his research trip after graduation, he had jumped at the chance, and he had to admit he had not been disappointed at all with their South American adventure.  It was true, most of the days he had spent following Draco around various hotspots in the Amazonian rainforest on the hunt for several key ingredients that he hoped would impress prospective employers when he made his potion-maker applications.  But Harry had got to sunbathe with a number of books to read, and in one location there had even been some ancient ruins to explore that had delighted him no end.

   Even if Draco had seen this as some sort of hardship though, Harry had got him all to himself every evening, when they had apparated to various towns to see the sights and eat in all kinds of different restaurants.  They still had to be reasonably careful in public so as not to draw any kind of unwanted attention for being two men together, but at least here on the other side of the world no one so far had _recognised_ them.  No one had shouted their names out in the street or felt they could come over and start talking to them as if they wanted nothing more than to hear the opinions of complete strangers.  The anonymity had been wonderful, and Harry was already feeling apprehensive about heading back to England the next day.

   Draco rolled his eyes in response to his deflection and rocked them back and forth.  _“You’re_ incredible,” he said pointedly.  “And I don’t care if you think it was no big deal to hang around while I did my thing, I think it was a huge deal, so I would like to take you home now and say thank you.”

   Harry smiled and squeezed Draco’s arse cheeks fondly.  “Do you want to go somewhere nice for dinner first?” he asked, thinking of a couple of places he’d spotted throughout the week.  But Draco shook his head. 

   “I organised some food to be dropped off at the lodge.  I’m going to cook for you and I’m not going to worry about trying to keep my hands off you because there won’t be a soul around for miles.  In fact,” he added wickedly with a flick of an eyebrow.  “I might insist that clothes are strictly optional as of…”  He glanced at his watch.  “Now.  How does that sound?”

   Harry smirked, his whole body tingling.  “That sounds delicious,” he said.

 

***

 

   Sometime later, when the sun had set and the insects had crawled out to serenade the rainforest with their night-time chorus, Harry lay on the bed in his and Draco’s secluded holiday home, trailing his fingers slowly up and down his boyfriend’s chest as the wisps of warm air occasionally drifted over his back, cooling the beaded sweat that sat on his skin.

   Draco was reading one of his theoretical volumes with Harry contentedly snuggled up to his side, the lone bed sheet pooled around them for minimal modesty.  Still, Harry had to marvel at the sight.  Four months ago, he had struggled to get Draco to even take his shirt off when they were alone, and now here they sat, naked save the one cotton sheet draped over their more intimate parts, perfectly at ease.

   “What?” Draco asked, peering down over his glasses.  It was a funny reversal, that he should have put his reading specs on after Harry had thrown off his regular glasses when he’d hastily got rid of everything else he’d been wearing a couple of hours ago around about the time Draco had pounced on him. 

   Harry blinked at him.  “Huh?”

   Draco placed his bookmark in the tome and, along with his glasses, placed it on the bedside cabinet.  “You looked pensive,” he said, wriggling back down onto the pillows so he and Harry were lying side by side, and he rubbed his fingers along his arm.  “What’s on your mind?”

   Harry wasn’t sure he wanted to say, sometimes it was better to just leave things alone, but Draco was looking at him expectantly.  “You just seem so happy,” he said, hoping that was open-ended enough. 

   “Holidays do tend to do that to a person,” he said with grin.

   But Harry shook his head.  “I guess,” he said.  “But I mean, in general, for the past few weeks.  It’s just lovely.”

   Draco considered him.  “Well, I was quite surprised how happy I was to graduate, it feels like we’re really moving forward now.  To a new life, leaving the past behind.”

   Harry nodded.  “I know what you mean,” he agreed, running his fingertips gently along Draco’s clavicles.  “It feels hopeful, full of possibility.”  He let his fingers trail down his sternum, and he was rewarded by Draco biting his lip suggestively.  “And, well, there’s this.  You seem so much more comfortable in your skin.”

   As soon as he said it, he wished he hadn’t.  Draco’s features closed up and his body stiffened slightly under Harry’s.

   “No, no,” Harry said hurriedly, pulling him back towards him.  “I’m sorry, I didn’t want to make a big deal of it.  I shouldn’t have mentioned it.”

   “It’s okay,” Draco mumbled, and Harry mentally kicked himself. 

   “I thought it was,” he said quietly.  “I thought you were happier?”

   Draco sighed, and looked kindly down at Harry.  “I was, I am I mean.  I’m sorry.”  He planted a little kiss on Harry’s forehead.  “It’s been a bit hard this week, but in general I am more accepting of…me,” he finished.  Harry worried he had probably mentally substituted the word ‘me’ for something derogatory like ‘the fact I got fat’ or something else hurtful. 

   “What do you mean ‘this week’?” Harry asked, genuinely curious.  Personally, he’d never seen Draco look more gorgeous.  The climate had meant he had had to wear shorts and t-shirts, something he hadn’t been persuaded to do back in England, and the sunshine had taken some of the deathly pallor from his skin.  He was positively glowing after so many hours traipsing through heavy vegetation, his body invigorated by so much time outdoors.  He had reminded Harry of the times they had played Quidditch when they were younger, but only much improved for not being at each other’s throats. 

   Draco bit his lip and rolled his eyes, clearly uncomfortable.  Harry was just about to say he didn’t have to answer, when he spoke.  “It’s hard, being so hot.”

   “Yeah, but someone has to do it,” Harry chimed in quickly, a cheeky grin on his face, pleased to make a joke and break the tension.  Draco huffed and slapped his arm, but he was smiling too.

   “No,” he sighed though, not entirely cheered.  “The heat makes it difficult, um, being bigger.  My skin rubs in all kinds of places, and I, uh, well I’m generally stickier, it makes me feel pretty gross.”

   Harry suddenly realised Draco had been pretty obsessed with taking at least two or three showers a day, sometimes more, and his words made sense.  “I don’t think you’re gross,” he said in a small voice, shifting so he more cuddled even closer to make his point.  “I’ve sweated buckets too, it’s just a normal human thing to do?”

   Draco shrugged.  “But you look like you’ve just stepped out of some sort of sports magazine when you’re dripping wet and shirtless,” he said, not looking at Harry and going red.  “I just look like a chubby mess.”

   Harry’s heart sank as Draco stubbornly kept his eyes somewhere between the wooden wall and the ceiling and worried at his lip.  “I don’t care if I have to say this a million times,” Harry said gently, lifting his hand to the side of Draco’s face and encouraging him to look down at him.  “I’ll say it more, I’ll say it forever.  _I think you are gorgeous._   Draco,” he said, and couldn’t help the little laugh that escaped.  “You’ve been driving me crazy.  Couldn’t you tell?”

   Having their own private hut in the middle of nowhere had sent Harry’s sex drive into overdrive.  He must have catalogued every inch of Draco’s body with his hands and his lips a hundred times over since they had arrived in Peru.  But none of that mattered if Draco was still so unhappy with the way he looked. 

   “I still don’t get why you like it?” Draco mumbled, but he fondly cupped Harry’s face too, and drew him into a kiss.  “I’m trying to listen to you, I am.  I just can’t seem to let go of the way I used to look.  Even if you like this better, I don’t know, I changed so fast, I’m struggling to come to terms with it.”

   Harry looked at him intently.  “I’d love you no matter how you looked,” he promised.  “If…if you really wanted to lose weight, I’d support that?  But only if that’s what you wanted?”

   Draco laughed ruefully.  “If I could just turn back time, if there was a spell to just be like I was-”

   “No,” Harry growled, genuinely alarmed.  There were all kinds of weight-loss spells and potions, but none of them were sanctioned by the Ministry and were rumoured to have long-term side effects that Harry did not like the sound of.  Plus, Time-Turners were an absolute nightmare, he knew that from personal experience.

   But Draco shook his head and smiled.  “I know, I wouldn’t do that.  I’m just saying, if I could click my fingers and be skinny again, I might like that.  But on the other hand I _love_ the way you make me feel, just as I am.  And, bloody hell, life’s too short!  After all the shit we went through, if I want to eat cake, or pasta, or whatever, I don’t want to deny myself that.  I don’t want to drop dead and regret not enjoying myself.”

   Harry shuddered.  “Don’t talk about dying,” he mumbled, burying his face into Draco’s neck, and he felt him chuckle. 

   “Sorry,” he apologised.  “You’re such a dork.”  Harry thought maybe he was touched by his horror at even mentioning him dying though.  He for one couldn’t stand it, and shook it off, physically.  They were here there and now, and everything was fine.  Draco stroked the back of his head, and carried on.  “Anyway, do you get what I mean?”

   “You’re still adjusting to your new shape?” Harry supplied, and Draco nodded.  “Well, I’m happy to help with that, any time you like.”

   Largely to shake off his melancholy, he dove down to lay several kisses on Draco’s tummy that he so adored, making him bark out a laugh and yank him back up to kiss his lips.  Draco sighed.  “Isn’t it hypocritical though – that I love how toned and fit you are?”

   Harry had been thinking about this, and he felt he had a good answer.  “Well,” he ventured.  “You’re very gay aren’t you?”

   “Extremely,” Draco agreed, a smile twitching at his lips. 

   “Exactly,” Harry carried on.  “So, the thing with me is, I did really quite fancy the girls I was with before, and a few others from afar, girls with curves.  I think part of my bisexuality is that I’m attracted to soft, cuddly bodies.  I feel so safe and comfortable when I’m in your arms, I love the way your body moulds under my hands.”  He squeezed Draco’s side and felt a roll of lust roll through him, certain it showed on his face.  “Does that make sense?”

   “We like different things,” Draco agreed firmly, and his shoulders relaxed a little.  “Okay, I hear you.  I’ll try and let it sink in.”

   “Can I help?” Harry asked, climbing on top of him as he kissed his neck, and Draco laughed. 

   “Help away.”

   It had taken them quite some time to come to this point.  It wasn’t just Draco’s body image issues that had held them back, but their antagonistic past as well had meant they had had to talk a lot of things through before the trust they had for each other matched up to their lustful urges.  Harry had to understand Draco’s depression, his complex relationship with his father and all the trauma he had suffered throughout the war.  And Draco had to understand the hurt he had caused to Harry and his friends, the real damage he had done so they could come together and face the consequences. 

   Their sex-life had progressed along a similar gradient.  They had to comprehend each other properly before Harry would be willing to take them much further than they had already gone, but from what he could tell, Draco had seemed more than content with the sort of external love-making they had been thoroughly enjoying thus far.  Harry had hoped that perhaps, one day soon, they could maybe experiment together and try and take it further.  He had been reading the books Hermione had bought him (red-faced as she handed them over, but apparently that wasn’t enough to deter her) and there definitely _was_ more they could be doing apparently.  “Real sex” he kept referring to it in his head.  Not that he didn’t consider what they’d already been doing so far as sex, but he was captivated by the idea of being inside one another, of being joined as closely two people could. 

   He didn’t have much to complain about though as his and Draco’s bodies slid together again on top of the bed, the lightweight sheet sliding away as they ground against each other, cocks filling up tightly, having recovered from their last session not long ago.  _“Draco,”_ Harry gasped, knowing it wasn’t going to be long before he climaxed.  They kissed urgently, and Harry wrapped his fingers around both their erections, squeezing for extra pressure as they slid in and out of his hand, rutting with fervour. 

   _“Harry, Harry,”_ Draco gnashed, nails digging into his back.

   It seemed like they were totally alone in the world, lost in their joy, lost in each other.  The humid air was thick with the scent of their arousal, and the night soon echoed with their triumphant cries of release, followed by their panting breaths and murmured words of love.

   Harry was tempted to say he didn’t want to return home the next day, that he wanted to put off reality. But he realised as he drifted off to sleep in his lover’s arms, that it would _still be_ reality, just the regular every day kind.  Draco wasn’t going anywhere, and they had their whole lives to plan before them. 

   If anything, their holiday had been a pause.  Tomorrow, it would be full steam ahead. 

 

***

 

   Lima city was a busy, bustling shock after the tranquillity of the lodge in the middle of nowhere Harry and Draco had spent the past week in.  Even if they had been out most evenings to several close-by towns, they had been more like villages, rural and charming.  Harry had quite forgotten the towering white sky-scrapers and tarmacked roads filled with fast moving cars.  As they stood on the spot where they had just apparated back, Harry tried not to be intimidated by the pace of the capital, reminding himself they were just about to travel back to London after all. 

   “It’s a bit noisy compared to the jungle,” Draco commented with a raised eyebrow, and Harry assured both of them by giving his back a quick rub.  It wasn’t like they had been in total silence; the wildlife had been extremely present the whole time, and Harry in particular had delighted in chatting to several different snakes over the past few days, much to Draco’s astonishment and awe.  But the lack of people had lulled them into a bit of a bubble, and Harry was feeling like he wanted to keep it that way a little longer. 

   But that wasn’t to be the case, and he sighed in resignation.  “Come on,” he said cheerily, steering them towards the small international Floo hub they had travelled through only a week previously.  “Just a few moments and we’ll be back in the UK.”

   The yellow building with the white trim stood innocuously between a bank and a shop selling sandals, the national flag atop a pole on the pavement, waving happily in the light breeze.  The boys dragged their suitcases behind them as they crossed the street and headed up the stairs into the open foyer, a ceiling fan attempting to dissipate some of the heat hanging thick in the air. 

   _“Buenos dias!”_ the young woman behind the desk chimed, her affected air making it quite clear that she did so a hundred times a day.  “Tourist Information, how can I help?”

   “Hi,” Harry said confidently, pulling out their permits.  “Two for international Floo, scheduled at ten o’clock?”

   “Of course Mr…”  The woman’s eyes lit up and her gaze inevitably darted from the parchment to Harry’s forehead.  “Mr Potter!” she cried.  “What an honour, I am so happy to meet you!”

   Harry scuffed his foot awkwardly and glanced apologetically at Draco, who merely smiled fondly at him.   “Erm, yes, that’s me,” he said evenly.  “And my friend?”

   The woman, dressed in a Muggle suit of the same kind of yellow as the outside of the building, blinked and checked their papers again.  “Oh yes, and a friend.  How nice for you, to be the friend of Harry Potter.” 

   Harry was certain she meant it as a compliment, but as they were lead through a door and down a corridor to where the Floo Mantelpiece was hidden away, he felt small and stupid.  “Sorry,” he mumbled to Draco, hating that anyone would treat him as second fiddle, innocently or not.

   It was Draco’s turn to rub his back, and he did so without much consideration for the woman showing them to their travel port.  “Don’t be silly,” he said quietly.  “She didn’t call me the Spawn of Voldemort, so I really don’t mind.”

   That just made Harry wince though.  Why did other people have to make things so complicated?

   The thing was though, he and Draco were famous whether they liked it or not, and they were going back home to where it would be even worse, so he just needed to take a deep breath, and get back in the mind set of brushing people off in the kindest way possible.  “Thank you,” he said to the lady, accepting the Floo powder she proffered.  “We can take it from here.”  She would have cleared the international hop across waters with the British Ministry, so she was only really accompanying them out of formality, and Harry didn’t feel like having anyone else around them just in that moment. 

   Things may have been manageable since Harry had accidently, unceremoniously outed their relationship back at Hogwarts at the start of spring, but they hadn’t always been easy.  Draco had suffered quite cruelly at the hands of many nay-sayers, receiving numerous Howlers screaming at him how he should be ashamed with himself for seducing The Boy Who Lived through nefarious means, and some outright telling himself to do the world a favour and jump off a cliff.  Harry had been there for him every step of the way, burning the damn things and holding him after the brave face he put on during the day had crumbled at night.

   Harry had gotten even more mail if possible, demanding he come to his senses, explaining just how wrong Draco was for him and the like.  He’d even had several parents offering up their daughters (and some sons) as a suitable substitute, and Harry had burned those too before Draco ever got a chance to see them, summing up their contents as blandly as possible so as to keep his boyfriend in the loop, but not to trouble him unduly. 

   As Harry stepped up to the fireplace, flinching from the added heat the flames caused in the already inflated temperature of the day, he firmly reminded himself of the hundreds of letters of _support_ they had also received.  There were some saying he deserved happiness wherever he chose, others trusting that if he had forgiven Draco then he must warrant forgiveness.  But the best came from every corner of the world, from wizards and witches of all ages on every point of the sexuality spectrum thanking them profusely for being role models, for giving hope to people like them who couldn’t believe that their hero was an ambassador for their way of life.  Harry hadn’t felt like that when he’d shouted out that he and Draco were dating in a fit of temper, he had just felt like defending the man he loved from bullies.  But he’d grown to accept it was so much more than that, and he and Draco had taken time to reply to every single one of those kind letters, and preserve all the original copies in a photo album so they could look back on them in moments of doubt. 

   That album was currently residing in Harry’s small, one bedroom flat over _Wesley’s Wizarding Wheezes_ in Diagon Alley, and the thought of it waiting to greet him on his return cheered him no end. 

   “Ready?” he asked as he and Draco held each other in front of the fireplace, their luggage gripped in their free hands, waiting to jump through the flames and cross continents. 

   Draco nodded.  “Ready,” he assured. 

   So with that, their time in paradise was over. 

 

***

 

   Harry had never been on holiday before, so he wasn’t aware of the concept of _‘holiday blues’._   If he had been, he might have felt like it slapped him in the face the second he and Draco stepped outside the Floo station on Diagon Alley. 

   The sky was grey and pouring with rain, and people with miserable looking faces bustled by, unaware of the two boys huddled under the awning staring out at the grim street in dismay.  It was four in the afternoon local time, being six hours ahead of Peru, and the sky was so dark despite the fact the sun wouldn’t be setting for several hours yet.  “Welcome home,” Draco said sardonically, and Harry let out a remorseful sort of chuckle. 

   “There goes our holiday,” he said gloomily, but then felt like a complete prat, remembering all the things he’d told himself on their last night.  He bounced his shoulders up and down and cleared his throat.  “It’s fine, I’m sure the sun will be back tomorrow.  Do you want to come over for some tea?”  He indicated down the winding road of shops where his flat was waiting for him. 

   Draco smiled gratefully at him and sighed, giving his hand a quick but firm squeeze.  “I’d better head home to Mother,” he said.  “She’s still got a couple of months left on her house arrest, and I think me going away not only made her a tad jealous – I’m concerned it also might have made her worry about…things.”   After an enforced year living with Voldemort, Harry could well imagine what ‘things’ those might be.  “We can talk later though?”

   Harry nodded, quashing the twinge of disappointment he felt.  Of course Draco had to go and see his mother, she was probably in desperate need of the company, and Harry had monopolised her son for the last week exclusively.  “Sure,” he said, then suddenly feeling a little awkward, looked down at the damp pavement, feeling his ears heat up.  “Um, thanks for, well, a bloody brilliant holiday.”

   Draco stepped into his line of sight, and he peeked up to see his boyfriend grinning at him.  “You’re welcome,” he said.  It was funny, how unsure they could be with each other still, or how confident, depending on what the other needed.  Harry had started out totally in charge, it had been easy when it had just been the two of them, but as the outside world made its presence more and more know, he found himself faltering more often than he would like.  “I think we should think about another one, soon.  This one involving less specimens in jars, and more cocktails by the beach, hmm?”

   That cheered Harry up no end.  “Definitely,” he said with enthusiasm. 

   Draco would simply apparate directly to his front door from here, so Harry glanced around to make sure no one was specifically gawking at them, then leaned over for a quick kiss on the lips.  It lingered a little longer than anticipated though as Draco grabbed his wrist and held him close, and Harry moaned into his mouth.  “Call me,” Draco mumbled.

   “I will,” Harry promised.

   And then he was gone.

   If anyone had noticed their parting embrace, Harry couldn’t tell as he cast a deflection charm on himself and his luggage, and stomped off into the downpour. 

   “Don’t be such a brat,” he muttered to himself as the colourful edifice of _Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes_ came into view.  “You’ll probably see him again tomorrow, give the poor boy some space.”

   He fumbled for his keys.  He’d never felt like this before, like half of him was missing when he and Draco were apart for too long.  It had been different at school, where they had always been under the same roof, even if they hardly saw each other all day.  They had almost every night together, and Harry could breathe knowing if there was anything wrong, Draco could contact him at a moment’s notice. 

   Now, he was all the way over in Wiltshire, and Harry wasn’t there to protect him. 

   “Mr Potter?”

   The voice startled him so badly he dropped his keys onto the cobblestones of the alley beside the Weasleys’ shop, and disrupted his charm so he was suddenly completely soaking wet.  He huffed in annoyance, and once he’d rescued his keys, looked up to see who had addressed him.  His skin may have been cold from the unexpected dousing of rain, but at the sight of the woman before him, his blood boiled. 

   “What do you want, Skeeter?” he growled, tempted to ignore the reporter and try and open the door that led into the back stairway behind the shop, all the way up to the safe haven of his flat.  But he didn’t want to turn his back on the meddling cow, nor did he fancy opening the door and giving her unwanted access to his home.  So he stood defiantly in the rain instead. 

   “Now Harry dear,” Rita Skeeter said with forced sincerity.  “Is that anyway to talk to an old friend?”  Harry’s glare probably gave her all the answer she needed, but she remained standing before him with a faux smile regardless. 

   She was poised underneath a frilly puce umbrella, lavender dyed fur trimming her coat and neat silver buckles on her violet Mary-Jane heels, all preserved in the dry by more than just the shield of the umbrella, Harry suspected.  A pink feathered quill hovered by her ear, eagerly waiting to write on the blank sheet opened up in the small notepad by her shoulders, leaving her hands free to clutch at the curved umbrella handle. 

   “No comment,” Harry snapped, glowering at the pad, as if daring it to write anything. 

   “But I haven’t asked you anything yet?” Rita said in a hurt tone.  “I am here on official capacity you know, for the Prophet.”

   “I don’t care if you’re here for the Queen herself,”  Harry snapped.  “I have nothing to say to you, about anything.”

   At that he did try and turn around, figuring it was worth risking a hex in the back if he could slam his door on the terrible woman’s face.

   “Not even about Draco Malfoy?”

   He knew he should ignore her, not rise to the bait, but Harry was aware, dimly, that he’d never been good at listening to his head in these sorts of situations, preferring to defer to his wilful heart.  “You leave him out of this,” he snarled, whipping back around.  Rita Skeeter’s smug look of triumph only succeeded in incensing him further. 

   “Oh but you are rather fond of him, aren’t you?” she prompted, and the quill positively trembled. 

   “What’s it to you?” Harry deflected, wiping water from his eyes.  His wand was in his hand, but he didn’t want to cast a single spell anywhere near Skeeter; the next thing he’d know, she would have him up on charges for attacking her with a wild curse, it had been known to happen.  So he just stayed dripping wet. 

   At least, being down the side-alley, people were generally too busy hurrying through the rain to look their way and pay much attention.  He only had to contend with Skeeter.  For now. 

   The reporter twirled one of her tight, platinum blond ringlets, and glanced upwards, as if considering.  “You set an example to so many people Harry,” she simpered, the use of his given name grating.  “People just want to try and _understand_ this rash decision you’ve made.” 

   “There was nothing _rash_ about it,” Harry bit out, then regretted it.  He shouldn’t be talking to this woman at all, he knew how obscenely she could twist even the simplest of words, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself.  “We grew up, we became friends, we fell in love, end of.”

   She shook her head, seemingly distressed.  “Harry,” she admonished, and he felt like taking a swing at her.  Like _she_ had any right to advise him on anything.   “This is still a very delicate time, people look to you for inspiration, leadership?”

   “That’s their problem, not mine,” Harry challenged.  He didn’t really mean it, he wanted to help people, he always did.  But that wasn’t going to affect his love life, of that he was absolutely determined.  “If they don’t like Draco, they can lump it.”

   “You think people are wrong to be abhorred by the fact you’ve chosen to align yourself with a _know Death Eater?”_ she asked, scandalised.  “You don’t think people have a right to be upset about that, or feel concern for your welfare?”

   _“Former_ Death Eater,” Harry spat out.  “Acting under _duress._   We made a statement about this back in May.  You can look it up.  I’m not repeating the same old nonsense over again!”

   “You think Death Eaters are nonsense Harry?” she asked, blinking her wide, innocent looking eyes from under her umbrella.

   “That’s not what I said-” he shot back.

   “Whatever happened to that lovely Weasley girl?” Skeeter ploughed on, jutting her chin up to indicated her brothers’ shop.  “You seemed very happy with her?”

   “Ginny has nothing to do with this,” Harry retorted, shaking an angry fist and flinging water droplets into Rita’s pretty little dry patch at her feet. 

   “She was a hero, the saviour of the school,” Rita implored, as if Harry didn’t know that full well.  “Whilst your little boyfriend was scampering at the Dark Lord’s feet, she was defying his people and keeping the resistance spirit alive, at great personal risk to herself.”

   “I’m not denying that,” Harry ground out between his teeth.  “But if you think Draco was anything but terrified-”

   “He was alive,” Skeeter cut across him.  “Which is more than can be now said for Ginevra’s brother.”  A jolt of pure ice shot through Harry’s insides that had nothing to do with the cold rain drenching his clothes. 

   “How _dare_ you bring up Fred,” he hissed, his anger making little spots dance in front of his eyes. 

   “There’s no denying the facts, Harry dear,” Skeeter carried on blithely.  “Now, I know you left poor Ginny for someone aligned to the people that murdered her brother, but she’s a tough girl, a brilliant girl.  I’m sure she would take you back, Harry.”

   “Is there no low you won’t sink to?” Harry demanded viciously, all too aware of the quill scribbling furiously on the third page from the pad since they had started talking.  “Dragging Fred into this, making me seem like I abandoned Ginny-”

   “Didn’t you?”

   “It was mutual!” Harry spat out, sending more raindrops flying as he gesticulated angrily.  “We weren’t in love, we became friends, and then I got with Draco and we _are_ in love.”

   Skeeter smirked.  “I’m sure you think you are dear,” she simpered condescendingly.  “And when it all falls apart, we can all only hope that Ginny Weasley will be there to pick up the pieces once again.”

   “What’s your obsession with her!” Harry shouted.  “If you think she’s that fucking marvellous, why don’t _you_ date her?”

   Rita visibly drew up at that, her already rouged cheeked reddening further.  “I, why – don’t be _disgusting,”_ she stuttered. 

   “Ahh,” said Harry, finally feeling like he was getting the upper hand.  “There we go.  It isn’t that I’m dating a former Death Eater, is it?”  He stepped closer, purposefully splattering water into her rain-free circle.  “You don’t like that I’m dating a _boy,_ do you Ms Skeeter?”

   “I never said that,” she snapped.  “But,” she continued as she visibly regrouped.  “You have to admit it’s not the best image to be sending out, especially to all those young children who look up to you.  It’s confusing.”

   “What?” Harry snarled.  “What’s confusing?  That two grown men are in love?  That forgiveness and kindness are as important as strength and determination? “  He thrust a finger into the loathsome woman’s face.  “I don’t care what you print about me, say what you like.  I don’t care.  You are a wriggling insect, inside and out, and I’ll put up with you and everyone else’s hatred, you won’t break us up.”

   He grabbed up his suitcase, jammed the key into the door, and yanked it open.  He was just about to give it that satisfactory slam shut he’d been yearning for, when her voice, trembling but defiant, came drifting over the threshold.

   “I guess I’ll just have to find out what young Mr Malfoy has to say about it then.”

   Harry shoved his luggage to the floor, dripping noisily on the tiles.  “You leave Draco alone,” he growled, fear curling in his chest. 

   “Oh but Harry, darling,” she said, giving him a hollow, wicked smile.  “I want to hear his defence on why The Boy Who Lived should be dragged down by a fat, disgraced loser like himself.  You can’t always be there to speak for the little wretch, can you?”

   Harry was so infuriated he almost lunged for her, unable to think straight, but luckily he felt an unexpected pair of hands grab his shoulders and pull him back.  “What the bloody hell is going on here then?” Ron demanded, scowling over his shoulder.  Harry felt a wave of relief roll over him.  He couldn’t have a clue what they had been talking about, and he had still leaped to Harry’s side without a moment’s pause. 

   Skeeter bristled, clearly not as willing to use the dead as an inflammatory tactic when their relatives were actually present.  “Harry and I were merely having a conversation,” she said evenly.

   “She was insulting me and Draco, and trying to use Fred’s death to make me feel guilty and get back with Ginny!” Harry bellowed, and he felt Ron stiffen against him. 

   “Right,” he replied.  “Well, I think it’s probably best you leave in that case, before something unpleasant happens.”  He looked Skeeter up and down unflatteringly.  _“More_ unpleasant,” he amended. 

   Skeeter’s jaw dropped down, but Harry finally got his chance and slammed the door good and proper, leaving him and Ron standing in the sparse hallway behind the shop front.  Harry was shaking from anger and cold, distracted by the hundred thoughts flying through his brain, so he almost jumped when Ron pulled him in for a hug. 

   “Are you alright?” he asked.

   Harry hugged him back.  “No,” he said into his clothes.  “Not really.”

   “Come on,” Ron sighed, picking up Harry’s suitcase and flicking his wand so they were both dry again.  “Let’s go up and make tea, and you can tell me all about it.” 

 

***

 

   There was a reason why Ron was Harry’s best friend.  He didn’t always get what was going on, and sometimes he disagreed whole-heartedly with him to the point of obstinacy.  But when it really mattered, he was always just there, with a strong cup of tea and an enthusiastic tirade for whoever might have been foolish enough to take on Harry _this_ week.

   “Bloody nuisance,” he was seething as he plied Harry with tea, biscuits, cake and sandwiches, all probably made by his mum who Harry had no doubt would have found out when he was coming back from holiday, and sent supplies on ahead.  “Lying, good-for-nothing toe-rag.  We should get a restraining order.  Like to see her say that shit to George…” 

   He stalked around Harry’s flat with easy familiarity, chucking all his clothes in the wash, throwing his shoes back by the front door, and unpacking his wash kit without even really looking at what he was doing.  Harry just sat and nibbled on a muffin, his tea nice and warm in his hand.  “She ambushed me,” he said, shaking his head.  “I should never have talked to her, it was stupid.” 

   Ron huffed and flopped onto the sofa beside him, and snatched up a triangle cheese sandwich and stuffed most of it in his mouth in one go.  “How’s she still allow to work?” he grumbled around the bread.  “All she does is lie and be awful, why do people still pay her?”

   “Because she sells papers,” Harry said with a sigh.  “Sometimes people don’t care if what they’re reading is true, they just want something entertaining, something scandalous.”

   “People are morons,” Ron said flatly around the rest of his sandwich, and reached for his own mug of tea. 

   “I’m worried she’ll do some real damage,” Harry mumbled, worry sick in his gut.

   “Like what?” Ron asked, raising an eyebrow.  

   Harry twiddled his thumbs and picked at his cuticles.  “Push us too far.  Break us up.”  Contrary to what he had yelled to that shyster on the street, he was deeply worried she might print something really hurtful that caused a rift between him and Draco.  They weren’t prefect, they did annoy each other sometimes, and stress each other out.  They didn’t particularly fight, but he knew from his relationships with Ron and Hermione sometimes all that was needed was a nugget of truth, just one insecurity drawn out into the light, and things could fall apart faster than you could blink. 

   “She can’t say anything worse than people have already said, surely?” Ron comforted him as he sipped his tea. 

   “Maybe,” Harry said.  “I don’t want her hounding him either though, I’d rather she troubled me, or any other reporter for that matter.  Let them sit outside _my_ door and pester _me_ with inane questions.  Draco and his mum have been through enough.”

   “So have you mate,” Ron answered scornfully.

   Harry shook his head.  “But I’m stronger.  If there has to be any crap from people out to get us, I want to take it.”  Ron sighed pointedly, and Harry frowned at him.  “What?”

   “Nothing,” he said kindly.  “Aside from the fact you’ve got it bad.”

   “Got what bad?” Harry repeated, confused.

   “Love,” said Ron patiently, and also with a tinge in his cheeks suggesting he’d rather not be talking about something so sappy.  “You’re hopelessly in love.  It’s, um, nice.  I guess.  And embarrassing.”  He diffused the awkwardness by hitting Harry with a throw cushion and making them both laugh.

   Harry though was quite chuffed.  Yes, he was in love, and it was reassuring to know his best friend accepted that as well as he could.  “Sorry,” he said, when he really meant _thanks._

   “Don’t be daft.  Right, so what to do about this Skeeter woman?”

   Harry sighed and tried to eat again, having regained his appetite a little.  “Ignore her?” he asked hopefully.

   Ron snorted.  “Fat chance of that I wager.  Maybe you should warn Draco she might be soon trespassing on his estate?”

   “Oh shit,” Harry spat, dropping his sandwich back on the plate and lurching forwards.  “You’re right, what was I thinking?”

   He grabbed some Floo powder and chucked it in the fireplace.  He had only called Draco’s house a couple of times since school had broken up, and he still felt a bit nervous doing so.  “Malfoy Manor, Draco’s Anex.”  He’d not seen it for himself yet, but Draco had explained that he had a wing of the manor that acted like his own self-sufficient apartment; an upgrade thanks to his mum’s hard work during the renovations over the past year.  It gave him a little privacy, which Harry was quite grateful for in that moment. 

   Narcissa apparently approved of him, and according to Draco might actually be _fond_ of him.  But right then he wasn’t in the mood for pleasantries, he just wanted to talk to Draco, to warn him.

   He ran into a problem immediately though as the flames went from green to unnaturally red in a flash, then died down to a normal orangey glow once again.  That meant their Floo connection was down, and Harry felt a flicker of panic. 

   “I’m sure it’s fine,” Ron said, as if reading his thoughts.  “Try the main house.”

   Harry hadn’t wanted to do that, but if it came to a choice between maybe having to deal with someone else beforehand, or not reaching Draco at all, he would suffer some small talk happily.   

   Unfortunately he just got the same result.  The whole house was disconnected, for whatever reason.  “Do you think something’s wrong?” he asked in a small voice.

   “Erm,” replied Ron hesitantly, making Harry worry even further.  But then his face lit up.  “Well, hang on.  Hasn’t his mum been stuck in there for almost a year?”

   “More or less,” Harry agreed. 

   Ron smiled, pleased with himself.  “She probably just wants to chat without any interruptions,” he said positively.  “My mum wanted to hear every single boring detail from me and Mione when we got back from Spain, you’d think it was the most fascinating place in the world.”  He rolled his eyes, but his words were filled with fondness.  “And she’s not been under house arrest.  Mrs Malfoy probably just wants all the gossip.” 

   Harry nodded, and tried to feel confidence in what Ron was suggesting.  “Yeah,” he said.  “Yeah, that’s probably what it is.  I could just write him a letter, and give him a heads up about Skeeter?”

   “Good idea,” said Ron.  “You can borrow one of our birds, they’re used to doing deliveries over long distances as fast as possible, a little letter will seem like a breeze in comparison.” 

   Ron made himself useful tidying a few more bits away around the flat, having apparently been encouraged to be more domesticated by moving in with Hermione, and Harry was thankful for the thoughtful gesture.  He hurriedly found some parchment and wrote the basics down of how he’d been verbally accosted by Rita Skeeter, telling Draco to be careful and avoid her if possible.  _“Love you,”_ he tagged on the end, feeling a little thrill at noting the words down for anyone to see. 

   Seeing as all he had to do was wait around for a response after that, Ron bustled him down the stairs again and got him helping out in the shop for a while, much to George’s delight.  “Go stand near the window Harry,” he joked.  “We’ll get a rush of people in for the last hour!”  Harry wasn’t entirely sure he _was_ joking, but just to be safe, he busied himself restocking shelves of Extendable Ears near the back. 

   He’d still not heard anything from Draco by the time they had completely closed up, so he accepted the Weasleys’ offer to come have dinner with them and Hermione.  It seemed George was dating Angelina Johnson now, and Harry was quite keen to see his old Quidditch team mate as well as his friends.   He ran up to check his flat, just to make sure any letters hadn’t gone up there by mistake, then grabbed his umbrella to head down the road to the little Italian place they all liked. 

   Harry allowed himself to be distracted as much as he could manage, but he still let out a sigh of relief during desert as an owl flew into the front of the restaurant, and the waiter brought the roll of parchment over for him to open, which he did hastily.

_“Dear Harry._

_“I’m sorry, something has come up, I can’t explain, but thank you for the advanced warning regarding Skeeter.  Hopefully I’ll be able to talk to you tomorrow._

_“Love you too,_

_“Dxxx”_

   He felt a small buzz at the declaration at the end, but other than that he was even more worried than he had been before.  “Do you reckon he’s okay?” he asked after reading the letter out to his friends.

   Hermione placed a hand over his.  “I’m sure he’s fine,” she said kindly.

   “It might be something to do with his family’s business or estate or whatever you want to call it,” Angelina said knowledgably.  She worked within the Ministry in some capacity Harry knew.  “Someone said something about things going on that way – maybe he’s got lots of papers to sign, or his mum has to go over the thousand-year-old lease or the like.”

   She winked at Harry and he smiled back.  “Yeah,” he said, trying hard to let his friends convince him he had nothing to worry about.  “Yeah, it’s probably all fine.”

   “And besides,” Ron chipped in, stealing a cherry off of Hermione’s pudding and popping it in his mouth before she could protest.  “You can call him again tomorrow anyway, make sure he’s alright.”

   Harry nodded.  That was true.  He couldn’t do anything now, so he may as well enjoy his night, and speak with Draco tomorrow. 

 

***

 

   The Floo portals were still down.

   After a fitful night’s sleep, Harry had forced himself to wait until the reasonable hour of ten o’clock to try once more, but he was greeted by the same hostile crimson flames that barred his way.  “Shit,” he said with feeling.  He re-read Draco’s message several times again, and chewed on his lip. 

   As much as he could tell from just a few words, Harry thought his boyfriend was definitely upset about something.  In the small hours of the morning, he had even had a fleeting half hour of despair where he had worried fitfully that somehow _he_ had upset Draco unknowingly, and that now he was just thinking for the best way to break up with him.  The welcome first light of dawn though had illuminated the more ridiculous aspects of that argument, namely that he had no doubt that Draco loved him as much as he did Draco, so he forced himself to dispel that theory and not indulge in it again, no matter how tempted he was.

   So that left either the problem of all the unwanted attention they had been getting since the revelation of their relationship, or some unknown element.  Either way, Draco seemed like he wanted to deal with it by himself.  So he knew he should probably just leave it well alone, but Harry had never been good at letting things lie. 

   He was still worrying over Skeeter’s words, even though this was almost certainly a different problem.  But every time he recalled her saying Draco was a _“fat, disgraced loser,”_ he felt a flurry of protectiveness surge up within him.  He had visions of _The Prophet_ or _Witch Weekly_ doing a front page spread of him with unflattering photos, poking fun at Draco’s most vulnerable insecurity. 

   He didn’t know what he could do, but he felt like there was absolutely nothing to be gained by staying in his flat, so he made up his mind to try and get ahead of the situation.  He showered and dressed with care, trying not to feel guilty.  It was all his fault Draco was under threat of harassment, if he wasn’t the bloody _Chosen One_ no one would care one jot who he was dating, and they wouldn’t have opinions on who might be better for him either. 

   A little voice in his head reminded him that Draco was a grown man, and had made some decisions that had been bad no matter how you looked at it, and had to deal with the consequences of that.  But Harry doubted people like Skeeter would still be particularly interested in him if Harry wasn’t steering their attention his way.

   He grunted and yanked his boots on.  The sun was shining today, but there was a still a fair nip in the air and lake-like puddles on the ground. 

   Their troubles with the press could very well be the reason the Floo access was down.  It would be nice just to have to deal with only the one issue, but Harry’s instinct told him otherwise.   He made sure he had his wand easily accessible in his pocket and some money, then headed out into Diagon Alley to apparate to Wiltshire.

   As he wasn’t a family member, the closest he could get to Malfoy Manor was the front gates.  Harry steadied himself on the spot, taking in the lush green countryside – a different hue to the jungle they’d been used to in Peru, but the scenery reminded him of their holiday nonetheless.  The wrought iron fence though reminded him of the grounds at Hogwarts, and he considered the best way to proceed.

   He had only been to Draco’s home once before, and it was under the direst of circumstances that Harry would rather forget.  Mostly forget.  He had no desire to think on the numerous Death Eaters that had captured and hurt them; to his knowledge all of them were either death or in Azkaban anyway.  Nor did he want to think of Luna’s imprisonment, Hermione’s torture, or, worst of all, the death of his dear, small friend Dobby.  As he faced the gates and took a fortifying breath, he thought only of Draco, looking into his eyes, and uttering with stammering but steadfast defiance that he did not know if it was Harry Potter that knelt before him. 

   He was here for Draco now, and he would not let his courage falter. 

   He raised his hand to the metal and was surprised to feel the gates begin to swing inwards at the merest touch, and he watched surprised as they opened fully to permit him to enter.  Draco must have granted him permission, even though they had not made plans for him to visit, and the thoughtfulness not only touched him deeply but also rallied Harry’s spirits.

   “Right then,” he said aloud, marching down the path that lead to the imposing front doors of the mansion. 

   The last time he had been apparated directly, in the dead of night, fear and dread clouding his vision as he and his best friends had been dragged unceremoniously into the house.  This time, Harry took a moment to feel the sunshine on his face, and the cool breeze ruffle his hair, before he rose his hand, and rapped smartly on the door.

   A few minutes went tensely by, before the door eventually creaked open, revealing a wizened old house elf who blinked and looked up at him with slow curiosity.  “Harry Potter?” the elf, a male Harry guessed, wheezed, squinting against the sunlight to see his features better.  He was wearing a smart tee-towel tunic, stamped with the Malfoy crest, and a tiny pair of spectacles perched on the tip on his nose.  “Dinkum is not believing it,” he said excitedly.  “Does Master Harry wish to enter?”

   “Um, yes,” Harry replied with a respectful little nod.  “If that’s alright?”

   Dinkum the elf bowed deeply and stepped aside to allow his through the door.  “It is Dinkum’s honour, Master Harry,” he croaked.  “Is he wishing to see Master Malfoy?”

   “Yes,” Harry replied gratefully as he stepped inside the cool interior of the Manor.  “That would be brilliant, if he’s not too busy?”

   The door swung slowly closed behind them, heavy on its hinges, and Dinkum bobbed in his bow to show he’d understood.  “Very good, Master Harry.  Please follow Dinkum this way.”

   Unlike his previous, horrible, visit to Malfoy Manor, Harry was free to take in the grandness of the house as he followed the elf through the high-ceilinged corridors.  He was reminded of how another house-elf by the name of Dinella had escorted him through the kitchens of Hogwarts several months ago; she had also taken him to Draco.  Harry very much hoped that this time he would not find him attempting to sob himself into unconsciousness. 

   Before, there had been house-elves that had flitted around him, anxious that Draco, who they had come to adore, was going to be okay.  On that occasion, Harry had felt like he’d had back up.  During this short journey however, they were accompanied by no one, but Harry felt several pairs of eyes on him at every junction regardless. 

   Generations of Malfoys stared down at him from painting after painting, scorn clear on their features as they regarded him coldly.  Some whispered to each other if there was more than one occupant in the picture, and to the edges of their frames if they were solitary.  Harry wasn’t able to catch any of the words, but he could read the contempt in their eyes clear enough.

   Harry swallowed thickly, gazing up at the intricate coving and dripping candelabras, as if he was shrinking with each footfall.  He felt a cold sensation flooding over him despite the warmth of the summer day, as he thought about how he entertained the ridiculous idea of asking Draco to move in with him, into his one bedroom flat over a _joke shop._  

   He’d always thought Draco had strutted around school when they were boys like he owned the place, and now, seeing the endless hallways of fine art, the evidence of generations of wealth sprawled out before him, he thought the he maybe understood where that arrogance had come from.  He even wondered, if he himself had grown up with such obscene riches, if he might have strutted about the place like he was entitled to whatever he pleased as well.

   Harry wasn’t poor, not by a long shot, but he didn’t want to squander his parents’ fortune until he had his own income, so had always lived modestly.  Even if he started spending that money though, on top of his own future earnings, he would still never achieve this level of wealth; this was the kind of wealth that existed in a person’s very blood.

   Draco had apologised profusely to Hermione for the use of certain absolutely appalling insults over the years, one in particular relating to her Muggle parents.  Harry would never excuse that behaviour, and he truly believed Draco’s remorse, but there was the smallest part of him that perhaps understood where that inflated sense of superiority had come from, and found he could almost forgive the younger Draco for his ingrained prejudice. 

   These towering walls were his home, he had run through these halls as a boy, had been taught his family values with the lords and ladies of his past peering imposingly over his shoulder.  It had been made clear to him since birth that his heritage, his blood, was better than almost everyone else’s. 

   The gulf between them had never been more apparent. 

   Harry hugged himself and his nice enough but obviously old jacket, and allowed Dinkum to see him into what he wanted to call a ‘drawing room’, though he wasn’t sure where he’d picked that term up from.  It was a large room, as big as the Gryffindor common room at least, with enormous floor to ceiling bay windows looking out of the grounds, affording a pleasant view of the topiary and the startlingly white peacocks picking their way across the manicured lawns.   The room itself was a pastel pallet of delicate pinks, creams and gold gilt, and was overshadowed by a magnificent portrait at the far end of the room, taking up the entire wall.  The expertly crafted painting depicted Draco sat on a high backed, velvet-trimmed chair, his parents posing behind him, a hand each on his shoulders. 

   Draco looked about fifteen, Harry would have guessed from his youth and the swagger in his sneer.  He had lost that distasteful air during their Sixth Year when he had been set an impossible mission by Voldemort, a task he probably complied with at first out of excited duty, then persevered through terrible desperation, knowing that he and the rest of his family would be murdered should he fail. 

   Harry eyed up this formed Draco, and felt like he was looking at a completely different person.  “Where is Master Malfoy?” he asked politely, indicating the empty room.  He longed to see _his_ Draco, the _real_ Draco with an all consuming fierceness.  This skinny little version gave him a contemptible smirk, and Harry turned away from it. 

   “Dinkum will inform the Master of Master Harry’s presence, and he shall be joining him shortly.  If Master Harry would like to be making himself comfortable?”  He indicated the numerous elaborately carved chairs that stood against the edges of the room, artfully positioned around the occasional small, decorative tables dotted in between them. 

   Harry nodded, and Dinkum disappeared through the door, hopefully to fetch Draco, fast.

   He chewed his lip and shrugged off his jacket.  He didn’t want to risk draping it over a chair, not when their seats and backs were cushioned with such delicate embroidery, so he folded it over his arm instead. 

   He felt numb.  He was causing Draco so much trouble, all the hate mail and the snooping reporters, because he was so sure they belonged together.  But seeing the world he was from was a reality check if ever he’d had one.  _What did he and Draco really have in common?_

   _They made each other laugh,_ the defiant side of his mind retaliated.  _They were deeply attracted to each other, Draco was smart and Harry was daring, they liked cooking and eating and drinking together, they loved reading and were starting their new, post-war lives together._

_They were in love._

   Harry balled his fists and clung to that knowledge resolutely.  They were in love, differences be damned.  And Harry was there to support Draco throughout whatever ailment had fallen on his doorstep, as well as the potential trouble from Skeeter they faced together.  _He would not forget that,_ he promised himself, then started as the door pushed open once again.  _They were in love, and nothing could shake that._  

   His smile, as well as his promise, faded in an instant as he registered who had walked through the door, and he scrambled to think of anything to say at all.

   Because this was Master Malfoy indeed.  It was just the _wrong_ Master Malfoy.

 

***

 

   “Harry Potter, as I live and breathe,” Lucius Malfoy sneered, looking Harry up and down in a most insulting manner.  “I guess I am sadly to believe the rumours are true after all?” 

   Harry’s mouth opened and closed abortively a couple of times, and then his anger surged, thrusting his voice from his throat. 

   “You were in Azkaban,” he challenged.  “You’re _supposed_ to be in Azkaban!”

   Lucius was dressed in all his finery like he’d never heard of such a ridiculous notion as being imprisoned, even though Harry had personally seen that he had been, twice.  His high-collared emerald green robes were embroidered delicately and edged with black silk.  His boots were polished to a dazzling shine, and his familiar serpent-headed cane gleamed wickedly in his hand.  “Early release for good behaviour,” he said, a twitch of a smile on his lips, though it was less a gesture of mirth than it was a sign of savage triumph. 

   Harry struggled to get his wits together.  Draco’s father was supposed to be under lock and key for another three to four more years at least, how on Earth had he managed to wiggle his way out?   

   Money.  That was the simple answer.  Despite being disgraced and committed of numerous crimes, he still had access to a vast wealth of funds, and it had probably only been a matter of time before he found a way to grease the right palm. 

   Suddenly Draco’s curt, tense note made sense.  He must have just been released, either yesterday or during the last day or so of their holiday.  Otherwise Draco’s mother would surely have written to him to warn him of this disastrous development. 

   Harry remembered his priorities, and stood up straighter.  He wasn’t here to pick a fight with a repulsive ex-Death-Eater.  “Another triumph of the Ministry’s justice system,” he managed to bite out.  “I’m not surprised.  Now if you’ll excuse me, there’s been a misunderstanding.  I’m not here to see you.  As you correctly guessed, I’m here for Draco.” 

   He made to move around the older Malfoy, when he found way blocked by the sudden appearance of a silver-tipped cane in front of his face.  “You cannot possibly fathom that I _approve_ of this travesty of a union, do you?” Lucius asked softly, his brow creasing in incredulity. 

   Harry glowered at him.  His nerves were raw enough from his encounter with Skeeter the previous day, and he was more than fired up for round two of defending him and Draco to the world.  _“You cannot possibly fathom,”_ he mimicked.  “That I would be concerned with anything so trivial as your _approval?_   After everything you put Draco through, dragging him into your disgusting bid for power with Voldemort, warping his mind with offensive rot?”

   Lucius’ eyes narrowed.  “You talk to me about ‘disgusting’,” he hissed, his voice dangerously low.  “When you pervert my only son and heir?  When you debase our family name with this most inappropriate display of lurid fancy?”  He touched the silver snake head to Harry’s chest, menace vibrating off of him.  “You were surprised I did everything possible to secure my early release?  I had to, seeing as no one else was willing to talk sense into Draco.  I had to save him from _you.”_

   Harry smacked the cane away and pushed into Lucius’ personal space.  “There is nothing _perverted_ or _disgusting_ about mine and Draco’s relationship,” he growled.  Up close, he could see the grey in Lucius’ blond hair, and hoped vengefully that prison had been an appalling ordeal for him.  “You have no claim over him anymore.  He is a legal adult and more importantly, he’s free of the choke-hold you had him under!”  His breathing was hard and fast, and his nails were digging into his palms painfully. 

   Lucius though remained infuriatingly calm looking, eyes roaming over Harry with amusement.  “He may well be of age now,” he said with something akin to a titter.  “But his inheritance is still firmly under my control, and unless he wishes to end up penniless on the street, he will marry a girl of my approval, and father an heir to continue the Malfoy name.”

   Harry was so stunned he stepped back and regarded Lucius with horror.  “He’s your son?” he said, stupidly.

   “Precisely,” Lucius snarled, stepping closer again, violent fury straining his features.  “And if you think I’m going to let him go gallivanting off with you of all people, the son of a Mudblood, the revolting stain on our people’s history, the larva responsible for undoing decades of planning and destroying my master on the cusp of his victory, you are sorely mistaken.  Draco has been seduced by your sickening sexual deviancy, and I will _stamp it out of him_.”  He sniffed and snatched up his cane as he calmed, regarding Harry with distain.  “No Malfoy will be so thoroughly humiliated.”

   Harry couldn’t help it, he barked an incredulous laugh.  “You mean like the humiliation of being proved to be a lying, snivelling turn-coat,” he spat, his fingers itching to reach for his wand.  “Of supporting a madman and a failed murderous scheme?  You’re not fooling anyone, and if you think,” he all but snarled.  “You can intimidate me, after all I’ve faced, you’re even more deluded than I imagined.”

   Lucius regarded him coldly.  “Perhaps,” he said grimly.  “But this is my household, and I will not allow Draco to bring any further doubt over its integrity, its _purity._ ”  He grinned, almost maniacally.  “And if I cannot scare you into submission, I will merely break you down, piece by piece, until your will is crushed.  Starting,” he hissed.  “With denying you my son; it’s clear this will cause you _great_ pain.”

   Harry curled his lip.  “You sound ridiculous,” he scoffed.  “Draco is his own man-”

   _“He will be a man by the time I’m through with him!”_ Lucius bellowed, a tinge of red spotting on his cheeks.  “You’ve made him pathetic, soft.  The gossip columns delight themselves with this gluttonous, weak imitation of the heir I left behind last summer.  You have diluted him into a namby-pamby, and _I will not have it!”_

   Harry felt sick.  “Draco is twice the man he was when you left him,” he cried.

   “Literally,” Lucius sneered cruelly.  “I will starve him if I have to, and salvage his tattered reputation, so he might be lucky enough to secure a girl of even passable breeding.”

   Harry shook his head.  “Fuck,” he said in barely a whisper.  “You sad old man.  You care more about selling him off like some unwanted farm animal than you do his happiness.  He’s your _son?_    And I hate to break it to you,” he added with a bitter laugh.  “But I didn’t do anything to him, he is _extremely_ gay whether you like it or not.” 

   Lucius’ eyes positively blazed.  “I don’t care what he _thinks_ he is,” he crowed.  “He is my son and he will do as he’s _told.”_

   “Over my _dead body!”_ Harry yelled, finally going for his wand as Lucius went for his, leaving them at a standstill.  “Get out of my way.”

   “You have attacked me in my own home,” Lucius gasped in mock horror.  “I have every right to protect myself.”

   “And I,” Harry growled, pouring months of frustration into his words.  “Will protect Draco from you with everything in my power.”

   “We shall see,” Lucius retorted.

   “Yes,” came a new voice.  “We will.”

   The door was pushed open where it had been left ajar, and Harry was taken aback to see not only Draco, who had been the one to speak, but several other people too, including Narcissa Malfoy, and Angelina Johnson of all people.  The rest he did not recognise, but they along with Angelina all bore the insignia on their robes of the Ministry legal department. 

   “This is a private matter,” Lucius snapped, not lowering his wand.  “Who are all you people, what are you doing in my home?”

   “I think you’ll find,” Draco said in a trembling but determined voice.  “You mean _Mother’s_ home.”

   Lucius blinked.  “Draco, what are you-”

   “Well,” said Angelina quite cheerfully, producing a roll of parchment.  “That is what we have been clearing up since yesterday.  If you had bothered to attend the review you had been summoned to rather than visiting your tailor, you might be more up to speed on matters.”

   “What my young apprentice is saying,” one of the older men said, a spark of amusement in his eyes.  “Is that thanks to your criminal dealings, your authority over the Malfoy estate has been seriously brought into question.  We were alerted that the Malfoys _acquitted_ of any wrong doing were deeply concerned of the ramifications Mr Malfoy’s release would have on their financial security-”

   At this Angelina definitely winked at Harry.  He remembered now, she did work in the legal department.  She must have taken Harry’s concerns last night to her colleagues, who had apparently come directly to Draco and his mother’s aid.

   “-and therefore wished to ensure they were protected by the law.”

   “To cut a long story short, Lucius,” Narcissa said evenly, her eyes ice cold as she regarded her husband, her hands protectively laid on her son’s shoulders.  “You are no longer the head of this family.  I am.  And I wish to make it perfectly clear, that if you leave mine and Draco’s home now, we will keep the agreed clause in the documents to pay you a sum to live off, so long as you keep out of our affairs.  Mine,” she said pointedly.  “And Draco’s.”

   “Oh, yeah,” Angelina said happily, pulling out another roll of parchment.  “This one’s for your divorce.  You _really_ should have come to that meeting.”

   Lucius started at them, flabbergasted.  “This – this is preposterous!”

   Harry thought it was all rather marvellous.

   “This is you dealing with the consequences of your actions,” Draco challenged.  His eyes were bright with tears, and he was clearly afraid of defying his father, but Harry caught his eye and nodded.  _You can do this,_ he urged silently. 

   Lucius’ manor darkened even further.  “You are a disgrace boy,” he snarled.  “I will not suffer such insolence-”

   “You have no power,” Draco said, cutting over him.  “Not any more.  Not over me or Mother.  You have no power to threaten me with _anything._   You do not control my fortune, you have no say in how I live my life, and you will certainly _not_ dictate who I marry.”

   Lucius straightened, and Harry sensed he was anticipating defeat.  “You would ruin this family,” he breathed, infuriated.  “Just to spite me?”

   “It’s _you_ who tried to ruin our family!” Draco shot back, trembling.  “We’re the ones that have had to rebuild our lives!  You think people still respect you?  You go out into the _real_ world and see how people treat you.  Just because you were able to worm your way out of prison charges just proves what kind of people the Malfoys supposedly are!” 

   “Then _your_ actions will only _worsen_ the situation, you insolent _brat!”_ Lucius roared, as if it were only him and Draco in the room, instead being surrounded by a pack of onlookers, most of whom seemed to be enjoying the elder Malfoy’s unravelling a little more than was strictly professional.  “My son?  A bloody _shirt lifter?  A nancy?”_

   “Better a sodomite,” Draco rasped, his nerve hanging on by a thread.  “Than a coward with nothing but hate in his heart.”

   “Enough,” the stern voice of the older lawyer cut across.  “The fact of the matter is Mr Malfoy, that you have been asked to leave by the legal owners of this property.  I suggest you come with me now so we can discuss the details of the transferral of your estate, as you failed to present yourself for the hearing earlier, and leave the owners in peace.”

   Lucius spluttered, the red splotches on his cheeks turning purple.  “This isn’t over,” he hissed and his son and former wife, marching out the door with the half a dozen Ministry representatives in his wake.

   “Catch you later Harry,” Angelina said hastily to him, then gave Draco a quick kiss on the cheek.

   The door swung shut with a gentle click, and Harry found himself alone with Draco and Narcissa.

   Mother or not present, Harry couldn’t hold himself back.  _“Oh Draco,”_ he moaned, throwing his arms around his boyfriend and clutching him tightly, enveloping him as fully as he could.  “Are you alright?  Are you really free of him?”

   He felt Draco nod into his neck.  “He was back not long before I left you yesterday, already trying to bully Mother, like the last few years had never happened.”

   They pulled apart and Draco looked at Narcissa, who was staring at them with an expression Harry found hard to read.  Her eyes were wide, her hands on her chest, and her lips pressed firmly together before she spoke.  “Draco did his best to deflect Lucius’ rage,” she said.  “But I fear his presence only made things worse.  We contacted our legal representation from the trials, to try and protect ourselves before Lucius made our lives a misery again.”

   “He wasn’t supposed to be out for a couple of years,” Draco said, shaking his head, his hands still firmly gripping Harry’s sides.  “I thought we would organise our affairs this summer, but-”

   “He wanted to hold your inheritance to ransom,” Harry said hurriedly.  “He told me himself, you’ve done the right thing.”

   “I know,” Draco said.  “And our lawyers didn’t seem to be in much of a hurry to get back to us.”  He smiled.  “Then your friend Angelina said you were worried about me, and pushed her people into action.”

   “They were most helpful,” Narcissa added.  “Harry-”  She stepped forward tentatively, and placed a hand on his shoulder.  “It’s not just that.  Draco and I – we heard most of what you said to Lucius.  Before the Ministry people came and joined us, we heard how you defended him.”

   Harry turned to Draco in time to see his smile curl cautiously up his face, a single tear falling.    “Thank you.”

   Harry was conflicted though.  “He tried to take everything from you,” Harry said, shaking his head.  “Because of me.  He was so disgusted by us, he was willing to throw you on the streets.”

   “And now he is the one that has been evicted,” Narcissa said sternly, moving to stand by Draco’s side to face him, her expression fierce. 

   “What if they hadn’t been able to change the ownership though,” Harry pressed on.  “What if the law had fallen on his side.  Draco, I almost ruined you!”

   Draco spluttered.  “Are you mad?” he said, grabbing Harry’s shoulders with urgency.  “Harry you _saved_ me, you save me _every day!”_  

   “I’ve brought nothing but trouble on your head!” Harry argued, exhausted from his sleepless night and emotionally wrung out from so many months of antagonism.  “I outed our relationship without your consent, and now people hound you daily for being with me, and it’s not fair!  Your father hates me so much he was willing to disown you, or force you into an arranged marriage!”

   “Harry,” Draco all but shouted.  “Do you think I care about any of that?  I love you, you idiot!  You said you’d stand by me, and you have.  I don’t care about money, or what people think, so long as I have you!”

   Narcissa kissed Draco’s cheek.  “Very sensible,” she said.  “And as it turns out, we still have our money, and Harry dear, I think I like you very much.”  She smiled, and Harry stared at her dumbly.  “And now I will leave you two alone.  I have many more papers to sign I fear, and I feel you could use some peace and quiet to talk things through.”

   “Thank you Mother,” Draco said, squeezing her hand, and the two boys watched her depart, closing the door behind her.

   Draco yanked Harry into a hug again, pressing their temples together as Harry’s hands clutched again at Draco’s back.  “What are you talking about, ‘ruining my life’?”  Draco asked, and Harry couldn’t help the sob that escaped his mouth. 

   “Rita Skeeter ambushed me yesterday,” he said, feeling his body quake.  “She’s out to slander us – you – she wants to break us up.  She said so many awful things about you.”  Harry screwed up his face, his anger at her fresh once again.  “And then I came here, and I saw how much you have to lose, and then your father threatened to take it away too, and I – I’ve just been so _selfish!”_

   Draco leaned back and cupped his face so they had to look at each other.  “The only thing I could possibly lose,” he said sternly.  “Is you.  Are you going anywhere?”

   “No,” Harry practically yelped.  “Draco, no, I wouldn’t leave you, but-”

   “Then ‘but’ nothing,” Draco pleaded, his eyes bright with unshed tears again.  “They can’t tear us down if we don’t let them.”

   Harry chewed his lip, trying to articulate his fear, his real fear, without making things worse.  “Skeeter was cruel,” he said quietly.  “About you.  And so was your father, about your…they said…”

   “They called me fat,” Draco said, and Harry’s eyes snapped up from where they had drifted to the carpet.  “I heard my father’s atrocious insults, I dare say Skeeter’s weren’t any kinder.”

   “I’m so sorry-” Harry began, his throat constricting, but Draco wrapped his hand around the back of Harry’s neck, and touched their foreheads together. 

   “Did you mean what you said?”

   “What?” Harry stammered.  “When?”

   “All those times, those hundreds of times when you called me gorgeous, and told me I was perfect, and kissed every inch of my skin, and made me feel _worshiped._   Did you mean that?”

   Harry was almost too stunned to speak, but he needed to speak, quite urgently, so he drummed up a desperate _“Yes!”_ from his toes.  “Yes, yes of course I meant it, every word, every time.”

   Draco smiled, tears spilled from his eyes.  “Then they will never break me,” he said firmly.  “I can’t promise I won’t get rattled, but as long as I have your support, they won’t convince me I’m not good enough for you just because I’m a bit big.”

   “You _are_ good enough,” Harry said frantically, pawing at Draco’s back with one hand and sliding his fingers into his soft hair with the other.  “You are, you’re amazing.  I was so proud of you, standing up to your dad like that, you were _amazing.”_

   Draco smiled, and then leaned in for a sweet, tender kiss, salty from the tears running down both their faces.  “Now we’ve established we’re both brilliant, and neither of us is abandoning the other, can I take you somewhere a little more private?”  He bit his lip and dugs his fingers into Harry’s skin, sending a surge of want through him that cleared away so much of the anxiety Harry had been saturated with for the past twenty four hours.  “I love you, and I feel like I need to give you a demonstration of exactly how much.”

   Harry thought back to the first time they had made love, emotional after unexpectedly coming out to half the school at once, and suddenly he knew like last time he just needed to have Draco in his bed again, he needed to claim him completely. 

   Sometimes he wouldn’t be able to shield them from the unfairness and cruelty of world, but when they were alone, he knew he could protect Draco and love him with everything he had to give.  “Do you want to come back to mine?” he asked, which seemed a little silly, considering Draco’s bedroom was only up a few flights of stairs, but he wanted sanctuary from absolutely everything, with no chance of interruption.  He wanted a door to lock in a quiet corner of the world where it would just be them too, joined as one.  “Let me take care of you.”

   “Yes,” Draco whispered.  “Yes please, but…but I want to look after you too, okay?  I don’t know if you really understand how perfect you are, how beautiful?  I want to take you to bed and show you.” 

   Harry shuddered.

   “I’d like that very much,” he confessed.

   Draco kissed him again, and took his hand.  “Then let’s go.”

 

***

 

   Harry was very glad Ron had made such a fuss of tidying his flat yesterday as he and Draco stumbled through the front door, so busy kissing that if there had been any debris in the way they would surely have been sent crashing to the floor. 

   Harry kicked the door shut and mumbled several locking, protection and silencing spells as Draco hungrily kissed his neck, then dragged him into the bedroom.  “Urgh,” he said as he fumbled over the buttons on Draco’s shirt.  “I can’t believe it’s only been two days since I had you, it feels like _forever.”_

   Draco surprised him by covering his hand with his own, stilling him and making him look up into his eyes.  “You can have me now,” he said, his voice shaking ever so slightly.  “I mean, um, all of me.  Properly.” 

   Harry’s heart skipped a beat.  “You want,” he said, his voice catching with nerves and adrenaline and want.  “You want that, you want to try-”  He couldn’t even say the damn words he wanted to, and he huffed in frustration.  “You don’t have to,” he said instead, cupping Draco’s face and stroking his thumb across his cheek bone.  “It’s been a hell of a day, you’re emotional.”

   Draco inhaled carefully.  “I know what I want,” he said steadily, his beautiful grey eyes looked on Harry’s.  “I want you to worship me again.  I want…I want you inside me.  I know you want that too.”

   “Only if you do too,” Harry said hastily.  “We could do it the other way round if you preferred, or just like we normally do?  Draco I don’t want to push you into anything?”  He searched his face, looking for any signs of distress, but Draco just looked back at him in earnest. 

   “Take care of me,” he whispered.  “Make me feel safe.”

   That, Harry could do.

   He kissed his lover gently, and began to slowly walk them both all the way into the bedroom.  “I’m here,” Harry whispered, never forgetting the words he’d used on the night of their first kiss.  “I’ve got you, it’s okay.”

   Draco nodded against him.  “You’ve got me,” he said breathlessly.  “You’ve got me.”

   Harry stopped them by the side of the bed, taking a slow breath and making sure his hands had stopped shaking.  “Stay still for me now,” he said as he carefully tackled the shirt buttons one by one, savouring the way each of them popped through their eyeholes, feeling Draco’s chest rise and fall under his touch.  “Let me do everything.”

   “Harry,” he murmured with a small nod, his fingertips resting feather-light against Harry’s elbows as he worked.  “Love you.”

   “Love you too gorgeous,” Harry whispered. 

   There was no t-shirt underneath the shirt.  Harry had never seen Draco go without that additional layer of security before, but then, in Peru, it had been too hot for so many layers, and Harry had taken advantage of the easier access to his boyfriend’s body unashamedly.  He hoped maybe Draco had enjoyed that as much as he had, and was now feeling less inclined to shield his body with extra clothing. 

   He carefully pushed the shirt from his shoulders and let it fall to the floor.  The curtains were open and sunshine was spilling through the window, so Harry could see every detail clearly.  Draco had his eyes closed and he was breathing slowly but heavily, and his shoulders were slightly hunched.  “Baby, look at me?” Harry asked softly, and felt a rush of love when Draco’s eyes fluttered open immediately.  “I’m right here okay?”

   “Okay,” Draco said shyly, then nodded.  “Okay Harry.  Can I um, can I take your shirt off too?  Or do you want to do it?”

   Harry stroked the side of his face.  “I’d love that sweetie,” he said.  He had been concerned at the start of their relationship that they would grow out of their little ritual of undressing one another, but so far, there was nothing boring about it at all, no matter how many times they did it.  He groaned happily as Draco slipped his hands under the hem and pulled the polo-shirt up over Harry’s head.

   The movement dislodged his glasses, so Harry slipped them off and placed them on the dresser whilst Draco discarded the shirt on the floor.  There was no rush, Harry wanted to enjoy this all day if he could, so he stepped against Draco and ran his hands up and down the sides of his arms, their bellies touching, their chests rising and falling together.  “All this, is mine,” he said, and he loved the little grin that tugged at Draco’s mouth.  They were both looking down at their stomachs, touching comfortably, but Harry could still just make out his expression.  “No one else has ever seen you like this.  You give me you, and I don’t think you always know how brilliant that is.  This gift of you.” 

   He bit his lip and gave a reproachful chuckle at how cheesy he sounded, but he didn’t care.  He grazed the backs of his fingers and knuckles over the lovely swell of Draco’s belly, leaning back a little to create some space between them so he could trail up and down, and his heart flipped as Draco shivered and gave a sweet little gasp.

   “You’re so good,” he said, feeling his throat constrict slightly.  “So brave.  I remember when I couldn’t do this, when you didn’t think I’d like it.  But you trusted me that I would, that I do, so much.  The quiet kind of brave.”

   “Noisy brave,” Draco mumbled back at him, eyelids heavy, lost in the sensation of Harry’s touch. 

   “I think I could make you be noisy,” Harry said playfully, his palms both flat either side of Draco’s stomach, resting comfortably as he leaned in and kissed his neck.  He hadn’t left a mark on his boyfriend for a while, and he felt the need strongly now.  Normally he would go lower, he liked sucking on Draco’s clavicles, marking out a little ring where only they would know about it.  But Harry was feeling possessive and he had the sudden, reckless urge to make sure the whole damn world knew that Draco Malfoy was loved and cherished and taken and _his._   So he sucked and licked and even grazed his teeth against the delicious pulse point he’d found, and moaned as Draco whimpered and let out ragged breaths, his hands trailing distractedly up and down Harry’s spine, making him tremble. 

   He kissed his work tenderly once he was done, then turned his head to capture Draco’s lips, hands grabbing at the soft flesh on his hips, kneading them with increasing want.  “Harry,” Draco breathed into his mouth.

   “I love when you say my name,” he confessed between kisses.  “I want you to be noisy for me Draco, tell me how you’re feeling, if you like it.”

   “Love it,” Draco gasped, one hand migrating to Harry’s hair.  “Love your hands on me, big hands, holding me. _Nuh,_ Harry.” 

   “Good boy,” Harry murmured, and Draco moaned.  “Good boy, just like that.”  He wanted every sense inundated by Draco; taste, touch, sight, smell and sound.  He wanted to be completed enveloped by him.  “Come to bed lover,” he rasped.  “I want you in my bed.”

   “Please,” Draco uttered, swaying on the spot, and Harry took his hands to guide him down to lie beside him.

   They must have kicked their shoes off as they’d stumbled into the flat, but Harry honestly couldn’t remember.  All he knew now was as Draco laid on his back and looked up at him adoringly, all he had to tackle were his trousers, and he liked that. 

   He picked up Draco’s limp arm by his wrist, and he watched pliantly as Harry placed it carefully by his head.  “Can you relax for me?” he asked, repeating the action on the other side.  “Lie back and let me take care of you?”

   Draco nodded, almost sleepily, and Harry smiled back down at him.  “Yes Harry.”

   “Good boy,” he said.  “My boy.”

   He took his time stroking his fingers up and down Draco’s torso, relishing how he flinched slightly when the touch hit the ticklish spots near his ribs.  He hummed and giggled when Harry found the sensitive areas, and Harry’s heart ached.  “Just like that, good boy.  Tell me you like it.”

   “Like it Harry,” he said, his speech stilted, letting Harry understand how undone he was becoming.

   “Good,” he said.  “You’re doing so well.  You can move your hands if you like, I want you to be comfy?  Just stay nice and relaxed for me.”  He gave Draco’s little love handle a firm squeeze, which elicited a sumptuous groan from him.  “You’re like putty, all mine to play with.”

   Draco’s breath hitched, and Harry’s already uncomfortable erection strained against his jeans.  He could see his was having a similar effect on Draco from the bulge between his legs.  “Yes Harry,” he panted, eyes screwed shut and head turned into the pillow.  “You can play with me, how – however you like.  My body’s yours, all yours.”

   Harry bit his lip, hard, and trailed his nose up Draco’s chest, his heavy breath moving the soft, golden curls of hair dusted up his sternum and along his pectorals.  “You’re so good, telling me want you want, letting me have you, you’re doing so well baby.”

   Draco moaned, and Harry worried it was close to a sob.  So he crawled further up and kissed Draco on the mouth, gently, without urgency. 

   “Are you okay?”

   “Perfect,” Draco said, his voice guttural.  “I’m floating.”

   Harry grinned.  Floating was very good. 

   He kissed his way back down again, moving over to the side closest to him to capture the already budded nipple and kissed and sucked it, liking the feel of the nub against his tongue.  He rolled the other one between his fingers, making Draco squirm and gasp, one hand sliding through Harry’s hair, encouraging him gently.  “Yes baby, that feels so good,” he whispered, and Harry hummed. 

   Once one nipple was red and shiny, he moved to the other one, and ghosted his fingers down Draco’s side, deliberately tickling him so he jerked under Harry.  “Does that feel nice?” he asked, aware he was grinning.

   “Yeah,” Draco told him, arm thrown over his eyes, lost in the sensation.  Harry liked that, for now, the idea he’d taken away his sight to make the other senses  that more heightened. 

   He tickled him with the barest of touches, and Draco made a keening noise, trying not to jerk to much but unable to help his body’s reactions.  “You’re so pretty when you do that,” Harry said, his voice rough from desire, and Draco giggled, his eyes still covered with the crook under his elbow.  Such an innocent, easy sound, Harry loved it.  

   Harry moved his hand and ran it just under the waist band of Draco’s trousers and underwear, feeling the hot skin and just a little bit more hair.  He’d seen it all before, he’d seen everything of Draco’s, but it still felt like opening a present. 

   “Draco,” he called softly.  “Baby look at me?”

   He obediently shifted his arm so it was draped over his head once more, blinked as his eyes got used to the light again, and looked at Harry with large, unquestioning eyes.  Harry was grateful, probably for the millionth time, that his vision wasn’t so bad that he couldn’t see Draco clearly from this distance.  He didn’t want to miss the trust and openness so clearly painted on his features. 

  “Good boy,” he murmured, and Draco flushed, pleased.  “I’m going to undress you now, and then I’m going to make love to you, is that okay?”

   “Okay Harry,” he said immediately, his voice catching a little in a raw croak.  “Yes, yes please.”

   “I might need you to do things for me,” Harry carried on, his heart thumping loudly against his chest.  “To help, but, only when I tell you, okay.  I want to do this for you, I want you to just allow me to pleasure you.”

   Draco whimpered, undeniably, and nodded.  Harry’s throbbing arousal pulsed even harder.  He wanted Draco so badly, to love him tenderly and be his whole world.  All he wanted Draco to do was follow his instructions, give himself over to the sensation, not _think,_ and so far, he was doing it beautifully. 

   “If anything doesn’t feel right,” Harry said, wanting to make his words crystal clear.  “You just say stop, okay?  It doesn’t matter what we’re doing, you say stop and it stops, understood?”

   “Yes Harry,” Draco agreed, eyes like saucers.  “Understood.”

   Harry nipped up the bed and planted a kiss on his gorgeous mouth.  “Good boy,” he said.

   “I like being good for you,” Draco said, cheeks even pinker with embarrassment, but Harry was sure his thrill at those few words showed all on his face. 

   “Fuck I love you baby,” he said, and kissed him again.  “You’re just so perfect, you do everything right for me.” 

   “Love you too,” Draco rasped. 

   Harry made short work of his belt and trousers, so he was soon lying naked on the bed waiting for him, watching as he began to undress himself.

   And that’s when his nerves hit.

   His fingers slipped on his zipper, and he was suddenly hit with the realisation that he was going to attempt to fuck Draco, and he had no idea what he was doing.

   He knew the theory.  He’d read Hermione’s books several times, imagining him and Draco doing exactly what they described, but that was completely different to standing there, looking down on his lover, the huge responsibility for getting it right and not hurting him startling him into stillness like a rabbit in headlights.

   “Hey,” Draco said, his face becoming serious, and he propped himself up on his elbows and reached for Harry, unabashed by his nakedness, concern clear as he offer him his hand.  “Hey, it’s okay, come here.”

   Harry stepped forward, because it was nice to just do what he was told.  Draco sat up further, and looked up at him with his hands wrapped comfortingly around his hips.  “I trust you.”

   Harry pressed his lips together, suddenly quite scared.  “What if I do something wrong?”

   Draco smiled, a look of relief.  “We’ll keep talking,” he said.  “Like we just were.  We can talk the whole time.  I’ll tell you what it feels like, if something needs changing.  Okay?”  He kissed Harry’s stomach, just below his belly button, the spot Harry often kissed him whilst they were getting undressed.  “We’re in this together, alright?”

   Harry felt something melt in him fractionally.  “I thought I was supposed to be taking care of you?” he said ruefully, feeling like he’d failed.

   Draco arched an eyebrow, abruptly looking every inch the heir to an enormous fortune and someone who had caused Harry a lot of trouble over the years.  “You were, you are, exquisitely.  And I remember insisting back at in the Manor that you let me care for you too.  We’re equal, aren’t we?”

   Harry melted like an ice cream in summer.  “Yes, yes gorgeous, completely.”

   “So, you shush for a minute okay?”  He eased the already unbuckled belt through the loops of Harry’s jeans, and dropped it to the floor.  “We’re in this together, remember.”

   Harry smiled and eased his fingers through Draco’s silky soft hair.  “Okay,” he submitted, grateful for so many things.

   Draco carefully pushed the denim down to his ankles, and Harry stepped free of the legs himself.  His boxers were tight enough to show his cock at half mast; he’d wilted a little in his panic, but his blood was starting to pump to his groin in earnest again.  He waited calmly as Draco hooked his thumbs under the elastic, and slipped them down passed his thighs as well.

   When they were both completely naked Harry crawled onto the bed and Draco lay back down for him, hands resting happily on his shoulders.  Harry cleared his throat.  “The books,” he said, feeling foolish, but telling himself sternly that Draco wouldn’t judge him for his inexperience, he’d promised not to after all.  “Say it’s easier if you lie on your tummy, so I’m behind you.  Is that what you want?”

   Draco considered that for a moment.  “I want to see you,” he said.  “I want to kiss you.  But…I read some stuff too.  It’s supposed to sort of hurt, and, maybe we should do it the way they say is the most relaxing, to get used to it?”

   Harry kissed him, chaste little flutters of lips against lips.  “We’ll take it step by step.” 

   Whilst he got the lube from the drawer, Draco put one pillow under his hips, and hugged another under his head.  Harry turned back to see him watching him with something almost like hope and wonder. 

   Harry spent some time running his hands up and down Draco’s back, watching his eyes flutter shut and the tension ease from his shoulders a bit.  He spared a moment to find his wand from the floor to warm up the lube, then left it on the side so he could find it after they were finished when he would inevitably want to clean them up so they could be comfy as they snuggled.

   That image hit him just as suddenly as the previous revelation.  Whereas that one had immobilised him, this one spurred him on.  He realised that whatever happened, no matter if they fumbled through it and it wasn’t quite right, whatever happened he would make sure they both came, that they were happy, and then they would cuddle in each others’ arms when it was all over.  The thought was enough to finally bring him back fully into the room, and give him the confidence that this would be alright.

   He started by just stroking one slippery finger in between Draco’s cheeks, feeling the strange, wrinkled skin there and watching eagerly as Draco moaned and shifted.  “Feels nice,” he said into the crook of his arm.

   “Good,” Harry said, relieved by hearing Draco’s approval out loud.  He’d experimented doing this to himself a few times, but it was always different doing it to somebody else.  “I’m going to try something a little more now.  Can you tense for me, as hard as you can?”

   Draco cracked one eye, clearly not quite understanding, but he shut it again and Harry felt him do what he’d asked under his finger, resting on his entrance.  He hoped desperately this little trick worked, he’d only read it in one of the more obscure book passages, but it made sense to him, so he figured it couldn’t make things any worse. 

   “That’s perfect, good boy,” he praised.  “Now relax.”

   As he did, Harry pushed his first finger in, and Draco sighed and shuddered.  “Ah,” he said, smiling but with his eyes still closed, the picture of contentment.  “Now I get it.  That feels nice.”

   Yeah?” Harry asked, pleased as punch.  Draco nodded, so he pushed in a little further, taking his finger almost to the knuckle.  Draco hummed and wriggled a bit, squirming back into Harry’s touch.

   “Odd,” he admitted with a chuckle.  “But good.”

   Harry began to move in and out slowly, getting him used to the sensation, taking his time.  His cock had grown into a sturdy rod again, watching his finger slip in and out of Draco’s body, wondering what it would feel like when he was doing that with his hot, weeping erection.  He let out a small gasp at the prospect. 

   “Can I add another finger?” he asked, and Draco nodded.

   “Please,” he uttered.  “More.”

   Harry added another drizzle of lube to his hand, just to be extra cautious, then pressed back inside that amazing, wet heat.  “Holy fuck,” he whispered, and Draco mewled like a kitten.  “Baby you’re doing so well, you feel incredible.” 

   Draco bit his lip and nodded.  “It’s okay, you can move.”  He took a shuddery breath and pressed against Harry’s intrusion.  “It gets better when you move.”

   Harry felt a little spike of panic that it wasn’t good already, but he’d read as much as he could on the matter and all the books agreed that it took a while to get used to the sensation.  He carefully started pulsing in and out.  “Are you sure it doesn’t hurt?” he asked, unable to quell his anxiety. 

   Draco shook his head though.  “Sort of…burns,” he grunted, blinking his eyes open.  “But it’s getting better, promise.”

   So Harry continued to move and stretch him open, leaning over to kiss his way along his spine, making Draco shudder in the good kind of way.  In fact, Harry noticed as he made his way up his back, that the distraction made him relax more almost immediately, so he carried on, bringing his other hand up to rest lightly on his ticklish ribs too.  Draco hummed and gasped, and Harry smiled into his skin. 

   “You’re doing perfectly,” he said, dizzy at the knowledge that he was doing this to another person, the person he loved, affecting him so completely.  He halted his movements briefly, though remained inside him, and reached his body up.  “Kiss me?” he asked, and Draco responded by reaching back so their mouths could meet.  It was slightly awkward but electrifying all the same.

   “I think I’m ready,” Draco whispered.

   “Are you sure?” Harry asked, eyes searching.  “I could add another finger?”

   Draco shook his head.  “Just kiss me again, then…then do it.”

   Harry slipped his fingers out, making him moan, gave them a quick wipe on the bed, then kissed Draco like a drowning man gasping for air.  Draco’s hands carded through Harry’s hair as their mouths battled and their tongues danced, incoherent noises bouncing off the walls as they lost themselves in each other.  Draco turned on his side slightly so they had a better angle, and they ground their bodies together, slick with sweat and quivering in anticipation. 

   “Okay,” Harry gasped, not sure who he was reassuring more.  “Okay, okay.”

   He took the still-warm lube and slathered it along his length, convulsing at the simple touch.  He felt raw and prickly and drunk on racing hormones.  Draco was watching him, his breathing raged and Harry felt overwhelmed with love and want. 

   “I’ve got you,” he uttered, sparing time for one final kiss before positioning himself behind Draco’s trembling body.  He had a hold of the pillow below him tightly, his head turned to the side so Harry could see his profile, his eyes shut as he breathed carefully in and out, clinging on to his loose state despite his obvious nerves.  “It’s okay, you’re doing amazing,” Harry babbled, as much for himself as to soothe his boyfriend further.  He lined up his glistening cock, pressing against his entrance.  “Do you want to try clenching for me again?” he suggested, willing to try anything to help.  He ran his left hand along Draco’s damp back, stroking him tenderly as the other braced most of his weight.  Draco nodded, his eyes still shut, and Harry felt the slight pressure against the sensitive tip of his prick. 

   “Good,” he breathed, swallowing and attempting composure.  “So good, okay, now relax baby, I’ve got you, I’ve got you.”

   Draco allowed the tight ring of muscle to unfurl like flower petals, and Harry pushed tentatively forward.

   Both of them cried out at the same time.  Harry, because nothing had ever felt so incredible as the wet, hotness pressing all around the end of his throbbing cock.  Draco though flinched and scrabbled to grab at the sheets.  “Are you okay?” Harry gasped, shocked.  But after a second Draco managed to nod. 

   “Yes.  Yes,” he stuttered.  “It’s okay, I’ll – I can – just keep going, I’ll be fine.”

   Harry wanted to protest, but Draco looked at him intently and nodded again in encouragement.  So Harry took a hold of his hip to steady himself and began inching in again. 

   The walls of Harry’s small flat thrummed with their cries, moans and frantic pants, and after an age Harry reckoned he was in as far as he could go.  He dropped down and smattered kissed across Draco’s broad shoulders, their right hands linking one on top of the other.  “Tell me when you feel ready,” Harry stammered.  He knew he wasn’t going to last long, he felt like his whole body was going to explode.

   “Can you move, just a little?” Draco asked.  There were tears in his eyes, but Harry was sure there were in his too, and Draco had promised he would say if he didn’t feel right.  “I need to get used to it.”

   Harry nodded frantically.  “Of course, yes, anything Draco, anything.”

   His blond hair was soaked and fanned all over the pillow, and his pale skin flushed pink.  He bit his lip and fixed his eyes on Harry’s, their fingers interlocked in a bone crushing grip.  Not in his entire life had had felt so completely at one with somebody else, and as he gently pulled back a fraction, then slid forwards again, causing Draco to shudder and bite at the air, he knew there was no one else in the entire world he would rather be with. 

   “Yes,” Draco gasped.  “Yes, like that, more Harry.”

   He gained confidence with each stroke, pulling out a little further, increasing the pace, until he was pounding, the sound of slapping flesh and desperate gasps drowned out by the roaring of blood in his ears.

   “Draco,” he stuttered, grabbing blindly at his hip with his free hand.  “I think, I think I might-”

   He shifted his angle slightly and Draco screamed – _he screamed_ – his whole body spasming and tightening around Harry’s cock.  He had no hope of holding it any longer, he let go, allowing his climax to rip through him, shattering him into a thousand sparkling pieces. 

   He rode out the shockwaves, then couldn’t stop himself collapsing over Draco’s quaking body.

   “Are you okay?” he forced himself to breathe out between gulps of air.  He wasn’t even sure what had happened to Draco, had he come?

   But his lover smiled sleepily up at him and brought his fingers to his lips, kissing them clumsily.  “I’ve never…” he started, but the words struggled for release.  “That was…oh _Harry.”_

   He began to shift and Harry pulled carefully back, slipping his softening cock free.  He still wasn’t sure if Draco was okay, but he had enough wits about him to fumble for his wand and fired out a quick cleaning spell over the both of them.  He barely had time to drop the wand again before Draco had finished rearranging himself on his back and grabbed Harry to him, wrapping arms and legs around him in a crushing hug Harry was surprised he had the energy for.  He felt like he was going to pass out. 

   “Was it okay?” he mumbled into his neck, embracing him just as tightly. 

   Draco laughed, but before Harry could panic he stroked his hair and kissed his cheek.  “It was incredible,” he said, but Harry didn’t quite believe him.  He’d seem the look of discomfort on his face, and now it was over he worried he had simply put up with it.

   He pulled back to look Draco in the eye.  “It wasn’t painful?” he challenged.

   Draco cupped his face and sighed.  “It was uncomfortable at the start, it took a while to get used to the, uh, intrusion.  And until I did it sort of burned.”

   “That doesn’t sound good!” Harry cried in alarm, but Draco laughed and kissed him on the lips. 

   “But then I _did_ get used to it, and you started moving, and Harry, and the end…”  He shook his head in disbelief.  “You did something and it was like pressing a button and – _urgh!”_   He flopped back into the pillow, looking inordinately content.

   Harry still wasn’t entirely convinced though.  “You came?” He’d been on his stomach, so it had been hard to see any evidence. 

   Draco grinned, tired, but somewhat mischievously still.  “Best.  Orgasm.  _Ever.”_

   Harry felt like a lead balloon escaped from his chest.  “Really?  _Really?_   Because, yeah, me too, amazing, oh Draco you were amazing!”

   He yanked the blanket around them as they kissed and grinned stupidly at one another, and  Harry’s whole body sang with satisfaction. 

   “Thank you,” Draco said after a time. 

   “For what?” Harry said, tracing his fingertips gently along the side of Draco’s tummy.

   He smiled, shyly.  “For being you, being with me.  For everything.”

   Harry smiled back.  “You’re welcome,” he whispered.  “And thank you right back.  You’re so perfect, I can’t believe we finally found each other.”

   Draco chuckled.  “After so many years, right in front of each other.”

   Harry’s hands naturally travelled over Draco’s scars and his Dark Mark tattoo, and Draco’s fingers did likewise, finding all the little blemishes that outwardly detailed Harry’s journey through life so far, ending with the lightning bolt on his forehead.  He had an idea, blooming in his post-coital haze, that maybe one day they could illustrate a new chapter in their lives, together, maybe with something that matched?  So many of their tragedies were there for the world to see on their skin, it would be nice to display their celebration of love as well. 

   He wasn’t sure how long they lay there, but Harry dozed for a bit, until the rumbling of his stomach woke him up with a jolt.

   Draco laughed at him.  “Hungry?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.

   Harry rubbed his eyes, clearing the sleep away.  “Starving, fancy some lunch?”

   “Definitely,” Draco agreed, and made to look for his clothes, but Harry pushed him back down and kissed his way up his neck.  “Uh uh,” he said playfully.  “You’re not leaving this bed, this is our little kingdom for the day, alright?”

   Draco laughed again and snuggled into the pillows as acceptance of this new arrangement.  “So I get to lie here while you bring me food?” he asked.

   “Precisely,” Harry confirmed, pleased at the shy happiness that brought to his boyfriend’s face.  “Your wish is my command.”

   Draco gave his arse a slap as he sauntered out of the bedroom, still completely naked but feeling extremely at ease with that fact.  His kitchen was nicely loaded up with all the food Mrs Weasley had thoughtfully stocked it with in his absence, so he grabbed a bowl of cold lasagne as well as two forks.  He may have promised Draco food, but that didn’t mean he had to be classy about it.  He tucked a carton of pumpkin juice under his arm, and made to head back when he spotted a letter on the table that had definitely not been there when he had left.

   He glanced at the opened window, and figured he must had had an owl at some point.  He was almost tempted to leave it, not sure what good news it could bring, but then he recognised Hermione’s curvy handwriting, and decided to give it a read in case it was urgent.

   The envelope clumsily gripped between a couple of free fingers, he made his way back into the bedroom, and plonked the large bowl of pasta into Draco’s lap.  “Do you want me to heat it up?” he asked hopefully, and Harry kissed him in response. 

   “Whatever you like my love,” he said happily, then scurried back under the blanket. 

   Whilst Draco hovered the dish and began to gradually bring it back to a suitable heat, Harry slid his finger along the seal and pulled out a short note as well as what looked to be a page from the Prophet.  His heart plummeted.

   “What’s that?” Draco asked, his voice tense as well. 

   “Not sure,” Harry admitted honestly.  “Something from Hermione?  _‘Thought you might like to read this, Hxxx’,”_ was all the attached message said, and Harry reminded himself that she would never send him anything out of spite.  So he unfolded the parchment for him and Draco to read, and then took in a small breath of shock.

   _“Does Potter’s courage know no bounds?”_ the front page headline read, with a picture of Harry staring down Rita Skeeter.  So much for being out of the way, Harry thought.  Someone had obviously spotted the argument yesterday, and grabbed a quick picture whilst they were at it.

   _“Harry Potter, hero of the Wizarding War, has been public about his relationship with former Death-Eater Draco Malfoy for some months now.  While some have criticised the union for numerous reasons, the boys have stuck together through thick and thin, defying the odds and declaiming over and over to the world that they are truly in love._

   Harry couldn’t help but splutter a little as the picture shifted, and was replaced by he and Draco standing outside the Floo station in Diagon Alley, sharing a goodbye kiss whilst they sheltered from the pouring rain.  They looked… _beautiful._   There was no other word for it, as their lips parted and they stared ardently at one another, before melting into the embrace again.

   “Wow,” Draco said, evidently just as stunned.

 _“Freelance reporter,”_ Harry read on. _“Rita Skeeter has been one of the loudest in opposition to the couple, and yesterday made her feelings known on the matter.  To which Harry defended the man he loves with the kind of valour we have come to expect from our treasured hero!_

_“When Skeeter referred to the two boys being an item as ‘disgusting’ Potter kept his cool but wouldn’t let the insults stand either.  A witness close by reports him as saying: “We grew up, we became friends, we fell in love, end of.”  Well said Harry!_

   “Is that really what you told her?” Draco asked fondly.  Harry blushed.

   “That’s, erm, probably the most printable of what I said,” he confirmed, but Draco looked thrilled nonetheless. 

   _“This public confrontation came on the eve of Lucius Malfoy’s early and unexpected release from Azkaban prison, but Harry’s beloved was prepared to face his villainous father!  It seems Lucius was also fastidiously opposed to his son being romantically entangled with another man, and vowed to have him marry a girl of his choosing (this reporter hears it was to be one Astoria Greengrass, but the Greengrass family are currently unavailable for comment)._

_“Draco though had his mother’s lawyers leap into action though, and ensured that the family’s fortune is now safely entrusted to him.  Good thinking Draco!”_

   “It’s in my mum’s name,” Draco protested at the inaccuracies.  “And Angelina got the legal team to move their arses, not me.”

   Harry pressed a quick kiss to his cheek.  “I guess it makes a better story this way,” he said apologetically.  He was honestly to bowled over by the paper’s positive and supporting tone, he couldn’t let a couple of fudged truths bother him just then.  “I never would have guess the Prophet would be on our side, it’s bloody amazing.”

   He grinned goofily, and was happy to see Draco mirror his enthusiasm back.  “Yeah, it kind of is.”

   The rest of the article went on to bash Lucius and Skeeter a fair bit, which Harry couldn’t say he minded, then gushed over their relationship so far, from the hinted secret romance at school and their dramatic revelation that they were dating, to reports of their loved up holiday in South America and plans for the future to come.

   _“Whatever tomorrow holds for the wizarding world’s hottest couple,”_ the article wound up.  _“We’ll be right behind them!”_

   Harry shook his head happily, then spotted the author.  ‘A. Wrackspurt’ had apparently penned the feature, and Harry let out a little exclamation.

   “What?” Draco asked.

   Harry folded up the sheet of paper to read again later, and let it drop to the floor.  “I think the writer was a friend,” he said, picking up his fork and handing Draco his.  “But we must have a lot more friends than we thought to get something like that put on the front page.”

   He cut into the steaming hot lasagne and blew on his forkful before popping it in his mouth.  _“Mmm,”_ he moaned as the rich flavours danced over his tongue, and Draco eagerly joined in. 

   “That’s not going to change everyone’s minds though,” he said after a time, and Harry shook his head in agreement. 

   “No,” he said.  “But it’s a good start.”  He took Draco’s hand with his free one, cradling it reverently.  “We’ve got each other, and we’ve got our families and friends, those that matter anyway.  Anything else is just a bonus.  Anyway, I’m not thinking about that today.  Today it’s just me and you, in our own little world.  Tomorrow we can take on everyone else.”

   “Together,” Draco said firmly.  

   “Forever,” Harry affirmed.

   And he meant it, with all his heart. 

 

 

The End

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, please review! To discover more of my writing, visit www.helenjuliet.com


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